I spy you through my coffee cup

It's late, but Allison said I should write about this in here, so I shall. Tomorrow's (single white female) might have regrets about it though.

Let's see where to start.

Well, I have been Miss Relationship Girl from age seventeen to age twenty-four, pretty solidly. It's only been this last year that I've actually learned how to be single, and really only the last two months that I've mastered it.  And by "mastered it" I mean I no longer send out oh-so-desperate facebook status updates saying I want someone to cuddle with me or slip Roofies into people's beers at bars to get an arm around my shoulders. How far I have come.

I now look forward to going to my little home after work and listening to old music while I sip guava Kombuchas and ignore the offensive odor of my workboots. There's something so reassuring about not having to worry about anyone judging me for using torn up paper towels when I run out of toilet paper (what? It happens!!) or explaining to anyone that the reason my couch is blocking the hallway is because I needed to push it out of the way to have more dance floor for my morning Zumba spasms.

I've become comfortable with laughing to myself, talking to myself, crying at ABC.com shows to myself, and eating kick-ass vegan cuisine by myself and ENJOYING it even if no one is there to say, "Good job (single white female), you're eating aaaall the colors."

However, my little sister came to visit me last week and it was the first time I had someone here to do all of those things with in my little studio. And I remembered that it's fucking AWESOME when you have someone to share the things you like with. We had baked potatoes with salsa and salad for breakfast, she politely didn't run for the hills when she came out of the shower and I was shaking my elbows to Fergie's "My Humps," and we watched Arrested Development and laughed while I chugged really shitty tasting RiteAid wine. When she left, it reminded me that as much as I enjoy wearing my salsa-stained Disneyland princess pajama bottoms and leaving the bathroom door open... maybe... just maybe it would be cool to have someone around to share in my world.

But as soon as that thought crossed my mind, I also had this other, urgent thought rap at my skull with nervous knuckles. Uhh... (single white female)... you're weird. Oh yeeeeaaaah!! I forGOT about that!! I knew there was SOMEthing that kept me from having successful relationships in the past, despite love and all that other stuff. The truth is, I am the oddest person I have ever met. And whenever I show some sort of STYLE that has inherently become MY style, it's actually the accidental offspring of my eccentricity and trying to do what I deem as "normal." This is true for my fashion sense and my artistic endeavors, and pretty much anything else in life. I have no problem with this. I am quite used to people spontaneously bursting out in laughter that grows to a hoarse wheezing (*cough*cough* Sam *cough*cough*) when I'm merely trying to explain why I thought the mouthwash in the bathrooms at the tennis club was soap, hence my smelling so minty fresh. At work I've become the girl in army galoshes and ferocious head scarves. Not out of some sort of intent, but rather because I've developed this homeless/found object sense of style that causes me to put things on when I see them on the ground or find them in my purse. Or in your purse. Or in the trash. I've gotten all my sunglasses from the Lost & Found at my old restaurant. Stoooked!! As far as my behavior... well... when I'm most comfortable, I'd say the way I hold my mouth is most like a drunken trucker with a beard, and the words that come out of it are in low, elbow-nudging tones of cynicism and sexual jokes. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd do me. It's just that my most natural state tends to be the least attractive state I can imagine... for anyone. And when I am interested in someone, I tend to start washing my clothes and wearing makeup and paying attention to my facial expressions and yadda yadda yadda, so that ultimately I'm not even acting like myself anymore. I think that's been the major problem in past relationships. I lose myself, and then I feel at odds with who I'm becoming and I no longer focus on my own future or who I am at all.

So. I guess what I'm saying is that if I'm ever going to find happiness in a relationship, I'm going to have to find someone who loves me even when I'm running into the other room shouting, "I'm sorry, it smells so bad!" and reeking of sulfurous fumes, or when I'm so scared to learn to drive that I insist on walking five miles to get rice milk... or... when I strain my neck because the music was just DEMANDING tribal head swings... or that if I could have anything come true in life it would be to live in Harry Potter's world.... These things are just standard me-things, and all those around me who love me accept them as part of what makes me that super sexy awesome person that I am. As comfortable as I am with my friends and family... sometimes I just can't imagine being able to be truly myself around someone I want to find me attractive. So, that's where my head is right now about relationships. I am counting on my aforementioned fans to let me know if I am truly being ME around my next Roofies victim-- I mean, the next person I'm interested in-- or if I'm busting out the same ol' translation of myself that I've turned to in the past.

What am I talking about? Hahahah ohhhh life is so funny when you are the person you're entertaining. I'm eating up every word my self is typing right now, but it just occurred to me that you didn't really ask to know any of this in the first place. Ah yes, there was a POINT to this, I JUST remembered!!

Kind of.

I just wanted to tie this in to the fact that I've decided that I really like all the people who work at my favorite artsy coffee shop down the street. It's called E Street Cafe, and every time I go there, I find myself smiling at some interaction I've had with one of the baristas. Not, like, one in particular, but ALL of them actually. They're those people who can wear page-boy caps and actually pull it off. They can call you "love" when taking your money and you'll stick an extra dollar in their tip jar. Today the guy who served me actually called me "love" not one, not two, notthreebutFOUR times, and also added in there a "sweetness." I actually had to call a time out and ask him hey did you really just call me sweetness? and he said yes and then I started laughing in his face, but I'm hoping it came off as cute flirtatious giggling instead of the Santa's bowl-full-of-jelly guffawing that it felt like. No matter, there are like ten of these people there, and I have decided that I am drawn to them and I am determined to develop a crush on one of them, so now I've taken to going in there for iced soy lattes with sugar-free vanilla to peruse the plaid shirts and headbands behind the counter to see if one of them stands out more than the others. What's funny is that I have to walk fifteen minutes out of my way to spend ten minutes acting nonchalant about my beverage order and hide the fact that I'm critiquing the exaction of each one's beard grooming (ooh that one has a lopsided sideburn, NO GOOD!) and taking mental notes about the creativity of pet names I'm given as I get out my wallet ("love" is the most common, but I've also gotten "darling" and "sweetheart." "Sweetness" kinda blew them all out of the water). Not to mention the fact that I am a victim of lifetime menopausal symptoms, so I have perma-hotflashes and by the time I get to the cafe doors I'm so sweaty that I have to sit outside and breathe slowly for five minutes before I'm even acceptable to be seen in public. Usually I spend this time pretending to be listening to something on my phone, because the people sitting outside always look at me quizzically and the effort of ACTUALLY talking on the phone would set me back about three minutes on sweat-stopping time. So uhh yeah. This is what I've started doing lately, and for some reason it makes sense to me. I imagine if you were here you would reach out across the table and rest your hand gently on mine and say, "Oh (single white female)... no." But HA! you are NOT here so I will carry happily on with my stalking agenda and continue to hop myself up on caffeine that leaves me stuttering aggressively at the innocent victims' ears I encounter throughout the rest of my day. Oh hey... that's probably why I'm wide awake at 2:30 in the morning I just realized.... Fuuuuc-- I mean-- TOTALLY worth it!